Who the Hell is Eddie Monroe?
by Tusk Of Thyme
Summary: Nick has a REAL issue with the fact that Monroe apparently only has ONE name. Hard core pythonesque *CRACK FIC*! With adult language because...we're all adults here and if you're not, you're on the internet so we all know your innocence will be gone (after reading this) at the end of the day. "Football AND no last name! I CAN'T *WORK* UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!"


**A/N:** This. Is a serous crackfic. I was sniggering most of the time I wrote this. What happened was that I learned that there is no Eddie Monroe, that is not the Wesen I was looking for. Which was a relief because Eddie is a horribly _stupid_ name for Monroe. There's nothing Eddie-ish about him. Anyway, this led me to inquire, so...what is this man's name-wtf do you _mean_ it's literally _just_ Monroe?! Even on the Grimm Wiki! Alice and Bart don't have last names either! What?! Honestly, aside from Dr. Harper and Frau Pesch not having first names (and who cares about them _anyway_) every other character has a full name, don't they? Wait...don't they? It doesn't matter, this is what came from me being fixated on this issue-shhhhh, shhhhh...shhhhhhhhhhhhjust let it happen, don't resist...just...let it...happen...

* * *

Sunday mornings were _so_ beautiful.

It was Monroe's weekly "Treatchaself" day, the one day he rested from exercise and started the day with a mocha coffee-hey, chocolate at _that_ time in the morning? What could Monroe _say_? He liked to live fast and dangerously. If Monroe was feeling exceptionally rebellious, he might even go as far as to _put chocolate milk in his cereal_! Had he _no limits?! No mercy?!_

Either way, it was a good day. Or at least Nick hadn't called him yet so far, _dankeschoen._ True, Nick got at least one Wesen case a week that took a few days to at most a month to tackle, this was a pleasant rest for the Blutbad. Maybe he'd be a really bad boy and break out some Bach on his Cello, it was just that kind of reckless day.

_First_, to complete the arduous task of finishing Mocha Coffee and the Calvin & Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book. That was, until he had a heart attack that propelled him out of his chair and left his life flashing before his eyes.

"You don't have a last name." Monroe coughed into his drink, choking with shock at the Grimm's voice and spun around to meet the steely voice.

"Nick! It's-"His brown eyes landed on his watch before darting up to the very _dark_ looking Nick, bad vibes were radiating off him like heat waves. "6:15 in the morning? Can I _help-"_

_"_Stop it dude, I mean it, how the fuck am I supposed to take you seriously as a person if you don't even have a last name. You're not fucking Pele, you know."

Monroe balked momentarily. _Seriously? Is this really happening right now? _A strained and very controlled whisper escaped like steam from Monroe's mouth, _"Nickolas Burkhardt you are __**way **__out of character! there are __**people. READING this.**_ I mean-_hopefully_, anyway..."

_"_Oh I'm _sorry," _Nick started to drawl slowly and sarcastically, "I can't hear you_, Mister….?_ Oh that's right. You're _just_ _Mister_, aren't you?"

Fine. Monroe set his mug down with solid determination. _Two_ could play this game. "…Well _excuse me,_ Mr. _Burkhardt_, I guess we can't _all be a fully developed _**Grimm** character like _you_. I'm also pretty certain I _**would**__ know_ if I was fucking an _international football star_-" Monroe could only gape as he recognized the sound of skin slapping skin had in fact been Nick's hand across Monroe's face.

"God _damnit it's soccer!_ Do you see?! Do you _see_ this?" Nick pleaded to an invisible God, "Football _and_ no last name?! I CAN'T WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!"

Oh Goddamnit, not _this_ fucking fight again. Not the cultural differences shit _again_.

"I'm _German!_ you _actually _play the game with. Your. _Feet_. _Foosball!"_ Nick was about to reply but Monroe had cut him off with a reciprocated slap. "YOu have no right to say anything about this! You are supposed to be _German_, dude! It doesn't take a _genius_ to see that THERE IS _NOTHING_ GERMANIC ABOUT YOU. You're _Italian_ Nick, as painful as it is, you're **Italian**. Accept it. You may as well change your name to like, David _Guintoli_ or something."

"David Guin-Monroe, that is the _stupidest_ name I have _ever_ heard!" Nick paused for a beat as he Let Monroe's blunt honestly bludgeon him over the head. Oh his life was a lie all a long! "Oh my _God_ it's _**true**_. I am _Italian_!" He started sobbing pathetically in the middle of monroe's kitchen flo-"hang on hang on, hold it. Dude, no, you are not going to have Nick break down on my clean kitchen floor!"

"Monroe, what are you doing?" Nick whispered warily through the hands that were clapped over his face. "You're not supposed to interact with the narrator directly! That's breaking the fourth wall!"

Yeah Monroe, that's breaking the fourth wall!

"Oh _shut up_! _NOW_ the fourth wall is being broken because I don't want to have to _have_ to clean up a mess?! Seriously folks?" Monroe stood in front of the collapse Nick heap, squawking like a frantic mother hen to no one in particular-"_Hey_! I _resent_ that description of me! I demand you treat me with some _respect!_"

Fuck off Monroe, you're ruining the story.

"Yeah!" Nick chorused, "You're ruining the story!"

"LOOK! ASSHOLES!" Monroe stared right up at where he knew the omniscient author sat, watching her scene play out behind a screen. "I am a _dignified_ character with thoughts, hopes and _feelings_, okay?! First of all, you make me _gay_-" Hey "-No shut _up_ a minute! you make me _gay_ and then you allow Nick to stomp in her on _my_ sacred sunday pointing out that I do in fact have an incomplete name, you let him slap me-_mock me_ over my European colloquialisms which _you yourself have, author, okay?!_ I know for a _fact_ you say and spell 'aluminium' because HA SEE IT'S RIGHT THERE! So how _dare _you take his side-and and and then when I ask to not clean up Nick's _Italian _melt down, yeah that's right you fake German, in my clean kitchen, you get on _my _ass? WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?"

Nick, by this point, had crawled beneath the kitchen table cowering in fear of what The Author might do. There was a reason that particular wall was never broken, their awesome power was not one to be trifled with.

"Bitch, please," Monroe snapped a sassy curl in the air with a matching neck roll, "Stop talking yourself up."

Deafening silence followed.

…

Yup, still there.

There was no sassy retort, no particularly threatening warning…still nothing. Monroe preened, proud of what he had done, wrangled the unwrangable. "Mitchell."

Nick poked his head out from beneath the table, still incredibly paranoid and anticipating a damn good wrathing. "What?" His blue eyes darted all over the serene scenery.

"My last name. It's Mitchell. Monroe Mitchell."

"Monroe…_Mitchell_." Nick repeated before wrinkling his face. Boy, _that_ tasted funny. "…Isn't Mitchell a Scottish name?"

"Shut the fuck up, kid."

Just then very window in Monroe's house cracked and shattered all over, save for the stained glass one in his door because I'm particularly fond of it. Enjoy cleaning _that _mess up, _Monroe Kilt-Wearing Mitchell_.

"…Son of a Bitch."

Nick let to his feet with a broad smile, "I'll go get the vacuum Monroe! Just don't start barking at it when it's on!" Anything else that may have followed was drowned out when Monroe slammed into him full force and tackled the Grimm to the ground. What the _hell_ was this, national bully Monroe day?!


End file.
